“Care to share?”
I look at him seriously. “That would make me an informant.”
“You owe me.”
“Yeah, you never did explain why you overruled Burrows and let me walk free without question.”
“An anonymous tip-off wasn’t quite enough on this occasion.”
“He was tipped off? Tipped off that I killed Frank Spittle?”
“Yes, like I said, it wasn’t enough given the circumstances.”
“Circumstances?”
“Well, lack of evidence asideandthe fact you’re dating Burrows’s ex-fiancée so it was obviously personal, unbelievably, you and The Brit are the lesser of two evils.”
Dating? Fuckingdating? “Lesser of two evils,” I muse. Interesting. “How’d you reach that conclusion?”
Higham motions to the other side of the graveyard, an indication to walk with him, away from the listening ears of the other cops. I catch Brad’s eye. He shakes his head and mouths“not picking up.”
“You have time to change your pants then,” I call, earning myself the middle finger. I walk on with Higham. “So, the lesser of two evils.” I’m insulted, to be honest.
“Don’t misunderstand me, James. Most of the Miami Police Department and FBI know you two foreigners are the most dangerous men in America. I know one of you killed Spittle, we just can’t prove who.”
I ignore most of his statement. Truth be told, if Danny hadn’t decapitated Spittle, I would have. “You telling us to fuck off back to our own country?” I ask.
He laughs. “I know your citizenship is fake.”
“Prove it.”
He waves a dismissive hand. “I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
“Like sharks?” I ask, cocking my head, getting another laugh.
“Yes, like sharks. What do you know about sharks?”
“I know sharks don’t last long out of water, so if I find one knocking around the streets of Miami, I’ll make sure it finds its way back into the ocean.” I smile at Higham, and he deflates.
“Let me have The Shark.”
“What shark?”
“For fuck’s sake,” he says on a sigh. “James, you and Danny want The Bear for personal reasons. You’re popping off fucking animals left and right. Let’s start with the Irish—The Snake, The Eagle, The Crocodile.”
“It was The Alligator,” I say. “Vince Roake was The Alligator, and he was set to take over the Irish drugs ring. Whoever killed him did you a favor.”
His eyebrows are so high he’s got a new hairline. “You made a real fucking mess of that club.”
“They did?”
“Fuck me,” he sighs, losing his patience, but what the fuck does he expect from me? Confessions written in blood? “The Dodo?” he asks. “He was set to take over from Roake but conveniently disappeared.”
I look out the corner of my eye. Higham would throw up if he had the gory details of The Dodo’s death. “I know nothing about any Dodo,” I say casually. “And aren’t they supposed to be extinct?” I smile on the inside, seeing all of us laughing our arses off at the boatyard after the poor Dodo’s grisly end.
“So who’s fronting the Irish now?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. No one’s heard anything. In fact, Higham, Miami is scarily quiet.”